Hatred, More Or Less
by Nephrite Eyes
Summary: Yami Malik's life, as he lived it. This is his story; captured forever, lest it be lost to time or mortal memory.


Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh, and am in no way making any sort of profit off of this fic.  
  
A/N: Let the secrets flow like a crimson river.  
  
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He was my first. He was, for years, my everything. I loved him, protected him best I could. He didn't thank me; he couldn't; for he didn't know I even existed. Not until that night. That faithful night on which everything changed.  
  
For all my short life; he had shared his world with me. I saw everything he did through his beautiful lavender eyes. My world was in violet hues; and odium never quite reached me where I rested; in the recesses of his mind.  
  
Shadows cloaked me, sheltered me from his sight. I watched him from my comforting darkness. I watched him grow; become more and more beautiful with each passing day. I ached to reach out and touch him; he was lonely. His heart echoed in this great cavern within which I hid, and the resonance of it tortured me. Yet I did not move from my shadows, for I was so frightened of repulsing him that I hesitated to even stir.  
  
So for years and years I watched him, grew enamoured with him as he changed; as he buried old ways and moulded new ones from conception. I watched as he thrust more and more shreds of his formal self towards me, and I gathered them up and kept them always in my shadow. I collected the shards of himself that he unwittingly threw to me; I cherished them. I truly did.  
  
But as the weeks passed by quickly for me; more and more of him drifted to me, discarded, and I grew concerned. Never before had he shed so many curios of himself with such cold abandon. He never once looked back towards his lost emotions and convictions. And I became worried for him.  
  
I began rejecting his discarded offerings. Shoved them back into his illuminated realm when he was not looking. Yet when he came across them, he merely threw them back into the darkness where I hid.  
  
During the day, I watched him in morbid fascination, looking on helplessly as he became more and more miserable. I so wanted to run to him and wrap him up in my arms, yet I didn't dare.  
  
When night came, I would watch his watercolour world of dreams as they streaked the sky of my dark existence. I would follow his dreams' story with my eyes as it bloomed; radiant fantasies in pure, raw colour. I watched as his beautiful dreams greyed. The colour was leached from them and would not return. His fantasies slowly shrivelled; became thin grey clouds that could dissipate at the slightest wind. The glowing innocence which lit his mind began diffusing itself, and the furnishings in his soul- did you know that a person carries with them furnishings, even in their mind? He had a bed, a desk, and a few other things. One must be comfortable, I suppose... but where was I? Ah, yes...  
  
Yet as his imaginings became weaker, so did his control over his mind's wanderings. Shreds of monologue made their way-slowly to me, at first. Malik's voice would be nothing more than a willowy whisper, and I would catch no more than a word or two before the voice disappeared, leaving nothing but a short echo.  
  
But eventually, this trickle of information grew into a smoothly flowing river, and I became able to listen to all of his thoughts like he were telling them to me himself. And I came to know what was causing him so much anxiety and grief.  
  
An initiation. He was to be inscribed with Pharaoh's memory, like all his ancestors before him.  
  
It would be painful, he acknowledged. It would become his life; to guard a dead pharaoh's secrets for as long as he lived. His life would be spent here; in this underground home which he saw as more of a penitentiary. He would never even see the sun outside.  
  
I did not understand why he was so aggrieved by this. Why would he want to see the other world? This realm of stone and darkness was familiar; it was home. And he had his own sun; the great luminosity of his own mind, that radiance that shone down brightly from above, and never set. Yet this, apparently, was not enough to sate his appetite for the alien and bazaar. He wanted to go above ground to see the rest of the world.  
  
Though I did not want this, perhaps it would make Malik happy once more.  
  
Shall we ask Isis to escort us to the outside; I asked him as he slept one night. I murmured it into his ear, and I knew that I was nothing more than a notion to him as I spoke, my lips almost touching his ear. I dare not touch him...  
  
The next day was the initiation.  
  
When Malik screamed; I screamed with him.  
  
I forced myself to feel his pain, to endure the blazing white cut of the knife with my dear Malik, so that-even if he failed to realize it-he would not be alone in his suffering. It was a pain which I had never felt before; intense and searing and excruciating. The knife virtually melted my skin, and I nearly blacked out when it was over. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, and I fell to the black ground beneath me when the dagger was lifted and cold air stroked the wounds.  
  
Malik had a bed to rest upon. He did not fall, though he wept. He shed many tears that night; he was aggrieved by anger and misery and the burning pain which would not leave us. I waited with him, waited for the throbbing to die down so that I might pick myself up from the ground beneath me and go to him, reach out from my familiar darkness and touch him, at last. It was now that he needed me most, and now that I sought most to oblige him.  
  
It was far into the night before I urged myself to get to my feet. My back was mercilessly tender, and I hissed in pain as my muscles locked on me as I tried to move. Yet I forced myself to rise, and I eventually was on my feet and making my way into the ever-dimming glow which separated my world from the one which Malik knew inside his own head.  
  
I approached him as he slept restlessly on his stomach, arms splayed out and hands dangling over the edge of the bed that was centred in the very light of his psyche. It had been here for as long as I had, at the very least. This was his mind's resting chamber, though it was no chamber at all, but open to the rest of his mind.  
  
I leaned on the wooden bed frame and looked down at his face. All I could see was his profile, and even that that disrupted by locks of soft, thick, flaxen hair. His brow was furrowed, his lips pursed as he tried to fight back pain, even in his sweet slumber. It was then that I finally brought myself to touch him.  
  
I couldn't stop myself from reaching out with one trembling hand and brushing some hair out of his closed eyes. I let my hand slip down to gently caress his cheek. His skin was hot and smooth, and the sensation of finally touching him was nothing less than electric.  
  
My eyes fluttered shut and I breathed in deeply, suddenly not bothered so much by the pain radiating from my back, or by the faintly scorching heat of the light which I now stood under, fully under the illumination of Malik's mind.  
  
I traced the outline of his jaw with a tentative index finger, feeling the soft skin under my ministrations. Malik sighed softly under my touch, and I moved my hand to gently stroke his cheek with my thumb. I had no doubt that my touch was tender. I knew that he probably didn't even notice it, that it was but a feather's dance to him. Yet he somehow still stirred.  
  
His violet eyes opened, and he looked up at me through a sleepy haze. I froze, my hand still on his cheek.  
  
We stayed like that for many long minutes, I think. Then, Malik moved to sit up, and I jerked my hand back from his face like I'd been burned. I considered running back to my comforting shadows, but I didn't. There would be no point; he had seen me. He was seeing me now. I could tell by the way his lavender eyes sparkled, boring into my soul.  
  
His gaze held mine as he tenderly sat on his haunches, ever-mindful of his bandaged back. His wounds had been dressed, while mine still burned nakedly on my back. His eyes were wide, as he took me in like I was something unfamiliar and foreign. Of course, I was, to him. Yet as his mouth formed a silent o-shape, I found an overwhelming urge to gather him up in my arms and never let him go.  
  
He stared at me for many minutes longer, and I grew uneasy and tense. Sparkling eyes of lilac drank me in like I was liquorice absinthe, but it felt almost good to have those eyes on me.  
  
Blood rushed to my face and under the illumination of Malik's conscious mind, I'm sure I was bright red. Heat flushed my cheeks as Malik stared in wonder at me. He seemed to almost marvel at me, and I confess; I was surprised that he did not fear me.  
  
Malik's tongue darted out quickly to lick his lips, and I think I mirrored his movement. He stared up at me and his mouth opened. 'Are you an angel?' He asked me in hushed awe.  
  
I said nothing, shocked by the inquiry, but a smile spread across my face at his words. A warmth tingled inside of me; he thought I was an angel! In my euphoria, I couldn't stop smiling; I simply beamed at him.  
  
A small, tentative smile tugged at Malik's moist lips, and he giggled softly. 'You are an angel, then,' he murmured, eyes still on me. 'You're my angel, right? You're here for me?'  
  
My smile faded a little, for I was suddenly stricken sombre. I looked down at Malik, whose bright lavender eyes were ablaze with delight, and I knelt down beside his bed. Surrounded by the dark concaves of Malik's mind, I looked at him, face to face. This was Malik; my Malik. The one to whom I owed my very existence to. The one who enamoured me endlessly without intention. And if he thought me to be his angel; I would become exactly that.  
  
A ring of luminosity surrounded us, separated us from the shadows of Malik's subconscious, and I felt almost as though I were under a spotlight. 'I may just be your angel.' I whispered mutedly, my eyes trained on Malik's.  
  
He uttered a willowy little laugh which tugged at my heartstrings and held out his trembling hands to me, palms facing upward, towards the light of his psyche.  
  
I hesitated only for a second before reaching out and taking his proffered hands in mine. I smiled comfortingly at him, my gaze staying securely locked as I bent down and gently kissed his warm palms, sealing our silent pact.  
  
This was my Malik now. Now, and forever more, I was sure.  
  
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Well, there we have Yami Malik's prologue to life. Did he charm you, dear reader? Are you now resolutely taken with his life, through his own eyes? Would you like to know more?  
  
Then please, do review. He wants his story to be told to any who would care to hear it.  
  
Thank you. 


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